


Becoming Ava Gardner

by Meags09



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meags09/pseuds/Meags09
Summary: Attempting to answer the question: why the hell are Luke and Lorelai still unmarried at the time the revival takes place? Obviously written in advance, so just a guess.





	1. Lorelai's Dark Day

_June 3, 2013_

It's been seven years. Seven years and 25 days since the ultimatum, since this thing between Luke and I imploded in the street in front of the diner. Seven years and 25 days since my life became something I didn't recognize.

Some days it's hard to keep it together. But especially today. Today, I have my own dark day. I disappear. Only Rory knows where I am, and she has pinky promised not to tell. This is the 5th year in a row, so Sookie has come to expect it. I block off several days for vacation, and she and Michel know better than to ask about my plans.

I don't always go to the same place. One year I just crashed on Rory's couch. In 2009, I rented a cabin that was pretty secluded, although it also had cable TV and wifi because a Gilmore needs creature comforts. Last year, my parents gave me a weekend at a fancy spa in Vermont. This year, I checked into the Plaza in New York City and planned an improvised movie themed walking tour. I started off with some danishes and coffee in front of Tiffany's on 5th Avenue, and then I hope to cap the day by arguing with a handsome stranger over the last pair of gloves at Bloomingdales.

It's the only day of the year that I allow myself to get sentimental. I cry and mope, and let myself feel all of the emotions that I don't allow myself to feel the rest of the year. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of distraction used on this day. But I usually end it with a viewing of _The Way We Were_ and an unhealthy amount of crying.

Most of the year, I'm able to make casual small talk during my rare trips to the diner. I order my food, I smile, and I ask polite questions about April. But today, I don't have to. I don't have to keep on my game face. I don't have to pretend I'm fine. It's kind of a relief to not have to walk around with a fake smile or pretend not to notice the glances people give when they think I'm not paying attention.

I lick the remains of the danish from my fingers. My breakfast eaten, I toss the remains of my coffee into the trash and start walking toward Central Park. It's still early, but I can tell the day is going to be a scorcher. It's only early June, it shouldn't be this hot yet. I hope to be able to make my next stop before I can't take the heat, which is the performing arts high school that _Fame_ was based on. After that, I plan to backtrack toward the Russian Tea Room for lunch before I get to Bloomingdales.

It's not lost on me that I intend to wear myself out by traipsing all over Manhattan. When I detailed my plans to Rory a few days ago, she pointed it out, too. Having a plan keeps my mind focused. I dressed for the occasion in a khaki skirt and a kitschy t-shirt emblazoned with some indie band that I don't recognize, but that Lane has waxed poetically about. I've got a pair of Nikes on my feet, and I brought the smallest purse I own. The wonderful thing about New York is that it takes a lot to stand out here, and I love being able to disappear into the crowd for a few hours.

I arrive at Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School 45 minutes after I leave Tiffany's. I'm not speed walking through this tour, not only because it's hot, but because there's no rush. Since it's June, and a Monday, classes are still in session, and there are a few people milling around outside the school. I sit down on the steps, and momentarily wish Rory were here, but change my mind just as quickly. In recent years, Rory's patience with me and this day has run out. She thinks I need to either confront Luke or let it go. And maybe she's right, but I'm not ready to give up yet. I want to wait at least 8 years, since that's how long he held on to that horoscope. Then, if there's still no hope, maybe I'll consider trying to let go, even though I don't know how to go about doing that.

The concept of _moving on_ seems so simple until you actually try to do it.

I wonder if he still has the horoscope.

I hang out in front of the high school until I need to leave in order to make my lunch reservation. Reserving a table for one in this beautiful restaurant is either the most pathetic or the most self-indulgent thing I've ever done. I've never been the type of person to spend so much time alone, but since Rory began living her adult life, I find myself alone a lot. Frequently, it's by choice. It gets tiring to hear the same questions over and over. "How are you?" "Is there a man in your life?" "What's new with you?" Again and again, the curious and well-meaning residents of Stars Hollow keep edging as close as possible to the question they really want to ask: "Why aren't you and Luke together?"

The meal is heavenly. It's fun to sit in the restaurant and think about the scene from _Tootsie_ , one of my favorite films. I can't help but think again about Rory. Maybe it would have been worth it to listen to her sage almost-30-year-old advice just to share this with her.

I impulsively decide to call her. She picks up on the first ring.

"This is Lorelai Gilmore," she says, all business-like. It gives me a little thrill to hear her like this, all journalistic savant.

"No, _this_ is Lorelai Gilmore!" I say, and can't help but giggle a little.

"Mom!" she says, and she sounds happy to hear from me. "I thought you were in New York today?"

"Oh, I am," I say, playing with the dregs of chocolate sauce from my cheesecake with the tines of my fork. "I'm at the Russian Tea Room, and I just wanted to call you so we could pretend you were here with me."

"Aw, that's cool."

"So, how's my big shot reporter? Has it warmed up at all?" Rory is in Toronto, doing some kind of journalism equivalent of an exchange program. Right now she's embroiled in reporting on some kind of scandal regarding the mayor. It all sounds full of intrigue, and she's in her element. I miss her every moment of every day, but I'm so proud of her. She's really living her dreams. She doesn't stay in one place for long, but her wanderlust always brings her back to Stars Hollow eventually.

"It's still chilly in the mornings," she says, and I hear faint clacking on the other end. "But the afternoons are really nice. I'm enjoying it."

"Uh-oh," I say, "don't get all ex-pat on me, now."

"Don't worry," she reassures me, even though she knows I'm teasing. "My roots will always be in Stars Hollow."

"I miss you, sweets," I say, and again I wish I had chosen to be with my daughter on this day, lectures be damned.

"Miss you too, Mom," she replies. "Try not to be too sad today, okay?"

"I'm actually having a pretty good day," I tell her, and it's true. The city feels alive, and having a place to go and a checklist to complete is not leaving me a lot of time for sentimentality. It's a nice change of pace from previous June 3rds.

I tell her a little about the day I've had so far, about the guy that whistled at me even though he was clearly not a day older than nineteen and I'm old enough to be his mother. I describe the other diners at the tea room, and I make up stories about them, with Rory interjecting her own comments. Too soon, she has a call on the other line and has to go. I'm hoping that I'll get to see her soon. Maybe I'll take a weekend and go visit her in Canada.

I take my time with my lunch, and linger over an additional glass of wine even after I've practically licked my dessert plate clean. I know I only have one planned stop after this, and then it's back to the hotel. I'm feeling pretty strong today, like it's okay to not have a plan after this. Maybe it's all the exercise that my body isn't used to, but I feel somewhat euphoric.

Bloomingdale's is practically next door in comparison to the rest of the walking I've done today. It hardly takes me any time at all before I'm walking inside, seeing all of the shiny displays and being circled by waiting salespeople, ready to push some kind of sample at me. I spend hours wandering through all the departments, trying on different clothes and poring over makeup. I end up spending way too much money on some organic bubble bath (who knew _that_ was a thing?) and another pair of shoes that I probably don't need.

The only time I almost lose it is when I see a dress that looks uncannily similar to the one I wore the night that I proposed to Luke. I finger the soft material and give in to the feeling of loss. I allow a single tear to escape, then I close my eyes and breathe deeply, and continue browsing.

I end up buying this beautiful, simple, black Christian Dior dress. It has a plunging neckline and a flared skirt. I can pair it with some red accessories and a tube of red lipstick. When I put it on, I know I look great. Sexy, even. And strangely enough, today I feel spunky enough to feel like I can wear it and feel good about everything that implies.

After Bloomies, I go back to the Plaza and up to my room. I am about to turn on my laptop, start _The Way We Were_ , and cry while eating room service, but suddenly, I decide to change things up. I'm 45 years old, a short jump to 50. I can't seriously spend the rest of my life pining, can I? I'm an attractive woman for my age. I could at least have a fling. It's been two and a half long years since I've been intimate with anything but my vibrator. So, resolved, I change and primp. After I've put on my beautiful new dress, I dig around in my makeup bag and am triumphant to find a tube of Vicious Trollop.

The Rose Club is pretty full, even for early evening. I am seated at a table, and I order a drink. I'm listening to the jazz music and enjoying the low lighting. I'm trying to look mysterious and alluring, but also aloof. I can't remember the last time I did this. When I was finally old enough to go to a bar, I already had a five year old. Sookie and I occasionally went out when Rory was a little older, and I may have picked up a number here and there, but I never went home with someone directly from the bar. I'm a little nervous, but also excited. Who says you can't experience new things as you age?

It doesn't take long before a handsome man comes up to me. "Is this seat taken?" he asks, indicating the chair across the small table from mine, and I smile flirtatiously. As opening lines go, it's not bad. He has thick, wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes. He is tanned, but not in that fake orange way. I surreptitiously check his left hand, which is thankfully ringless.

"It is now," I reply, and I flip my hair. He's already entranced, I can tell, and I'm unsure if he thinks I'm someone he wants to get to know, or if he's just trying to figure out if I'm going to be an easy conquest.

We spend a couple of hours talking. His name is Dennis, and he runs a brokerage. He doesn't try to bore me with financial talk, and I mention my inn sparingly. Instead, we talk about New York. About the places I went today, and about the ones he loves. He comes here often on business, although he calls Miami home. It's a wonderful way to spend the evening. We order drinks and food, and time passes more quickly than I expect. I'm fairly tipsy by the time he finally makes his move.

"I have a room," he says, and even though this is what I've been aiming for the whole time we've been talking, my throat feels like it's closing up and I can hardly breathe. I smile wanly, then give a quick glance at my watch.

"Oh, look at the time!" I cry, fake sincerity oozing out of my voice. "I need to get back and relieve the babysitter. Did you know they charge time and a half these days if you're late?"

He stutters something, and I sweep out of there as fast as I can. I'm already sobbing by the time I reach my door. It takes a few tries before I'm able to open it, and I stumble into the bathroom, dropping my new dress on the floor in a heap. I turn on the shower and I have to lean against the tile wall as the sobs wrack my body. The spray muffles the sound slightly, but I still hope no one can hear me out in the hallway.

Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and the sobs quiet to sniffles. I wash off my makeup, wrap myself in one of the plush robes, and fall into the bed. I expect to toss and turn for hours, but fortunately, I quickly fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	2. Not So Bon Voyage

_May 15, 2007_

"I just like to see you happy."

He said it so casually, like it was just a fact. He smiled slightly. I was overcome with longing and hope and love, and I felt myself moving toward him. He dropped the bag in his hands, and met me halfway. The feel of him kissing me flooded me with memories of how we used to be. His tongue was in my mouth and I knew then I could never be over him. He was as much a part of me as Rory; he was imprinted in my DNA. We clutched each other so tightly, I thought I might stop breathing. But I would die happy, because I had Luke back. Luke was mine again. I was _home_.

We pulled apart, breathless, with our foreheads pressed together. I glanced back toward the party, but we had escaped unseen.

"We should get back," I whispered. He nodded, and we looked at each other for a minute. I smiled tentatively, and so did he. It was a little awkward, but I was hopeful. Even though Rory was leaving, maybe I wouldn't be all alone after all. Maybe the middle, the package, everything I had always wanted, maybe I could still have it. And with the man I had never stopped loving.

He pulled a box out of his back pocket, and handed it to me. "Here," he said gruffly, almost shy.

"Another gift for Rory?" I asked, looking at the box in my hand. It was long and rectangular, and I expected it to be another one of Liz's creations.

"Ah, no," he said, and looked embarrassed. "That one's for you."

"Oh," I breathed, and opened the box gingerly. I lifted out the delicate necklace. "It's beautiful," I said, holding it up in the moonlight. It glittered.

"It reminded me of you," he said, and when I looked up into his face, he smiled.

"Help me put it on?" I asked, turning around and lifting my hair. He connected the clasp and I turned to face him again. We stood there, smiling at each other for a bit longer, and then he bent over to pick up the bag of charcoal.

"I'm going to get back to grilling," he said. "Come by when you get hungry."

"Wild horses can't keep me away," I said. "Especially now that my parents are gone."

We started walking back, but at the edge of the party, Luke ducked toward me, and said quietly into my ear, "Come by the diner tomorrow, for breakfast."

"We have to leave around 5:30," I said, just as quietly.

"I'll be up," he replied. I nodded, and smiled, a little wider that time.

* * *

It was like we had never been apart, and we fell into a new routine easily. I'd come by the diner for breakfast, and we'd talk while he poured the coffee and I ate my food. After a full day at the Inn, I might stop in for coffee or just go straight home. On the nights he wasn't closing, he'd bring dinner over. Sometimes he came bearing grocery bags, and he'd cook up something that smelled glorious and tasted even better. Other times, it was a simple burger and fries (for me) and salad (for him) from the diner. After we ate, we'd sit on the couch and watch a movie. Sometimes we'd just make out for awhile. It never went too far. I wasn't ready. _He_ wasn't ready.

After 3 weeks, though, I felt like it was time. I wanted to move to the next step, to get beyond a few kisses and to get to our middle. We'd finished eating, and I'd put a movie in. I don't even remember what movie it was, since I had no intention of watching it. I snuggled up close to him, and let my fingers wander to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. He turned his head and I met his lips eagerly. After a few moments, I moved to straddle his lap, trying to escalate our mild necking into something more.

He instantly stopped kissing me, and he pushed at my hips a little. "No, Lorelai," he said, which surprised me a little, but I slipped off his lap and went back to my side of the couch.

"Oh," I said, disappointed, but I figured I could wait a little longer. "Well, you just let me know when you're ready," I said, trying to smile and diffuse the awkwardness.

He looked away, and that's when I knew something was wrong. "Luke?" I asked worriedly.

"I don't know if I can," he said, staring at his hands.

"They make pills for that," I joked, but he glared at me. "Sorry, comedy hour not welcome." I paused, trying to understand. "Like, tonight, or… ever?"

He looked into my eyes, and I saw pain etched across his face. "Maybe ever." My heart sank and I felt it crack in two at the bottom of my stomach.

"Oh," I replied, shocked. I stood up suddenly, because I couldn't sit still. I walked toward the kitchen, then back again, standing in front of him. "Then what are we doing here?" I asked, my voice cracking ever so slightly.

"I don't know," he answered.

I take a deep breath. "Do you… do you still love me?"

His face is pained. "I _do_ love you, Lorelai. If I didn't love you, it wouldn't _hurt_ so much."

I felt tears sliding down my cheeks. I didn't even know I had started crying. "So, what then? You can never forgive me?" My voice was taking on this shrill quality that I hated but I couldn't stop myself. I sounded like my mother, which upset me even more.

"It's just that… " he started, then hesitated. He leaned forward, looking down at his clasped hands. I waited, although I was dreading whatever confession he was about to make. I should have known everything was too easy, I should have known. Just like planning the wedding had been too easy. Nothing is easy like that for me. The seconds stretched between us, and finally he admitted, "I just keep thinking about him touching you. About how the last man you were with wasn't me."

"Luke," I begged, "please, he is history, he's nothing, I tried because I didn't know what else to do —"

"Lorelai, you are the only one I've been with since we started this thing. We've been apart over a year, and I still haven't been with anyone else. I just can't get that image out of my head, of you with… with _him_." He lifted his head, and we stared at each other. I felt like I was falling into an abyss and nothing could save me.

"So, that's it then?" I asked, hearing the desperation in my voice and hating it.

But he just stared at me. The full brunt of the pain and regret hit me so hard, I almost doubled over from the blow. I let out a sob, and covered my mouth, as if trying to prevent the sound from becoming audible.

I think he apologized. He probably said he had to go, or that he would see me later. Either way, the ending is the same. I was left alone in my house; completely, totally alone.

* * *

I called Mike Armstrong from the Durham group the next day. I needed to put some space between Luke and I for a little while, and he had a short term placement in Seattle. It was the farthest I could get away without leaving the country.

Sookie was perplexed when first I told her I was going. She thought things were going so well since the party. I guess we were both fooled. I was relieved that I hadn't told my parents yet that Luke and I were back together, because untelling them for the third time would be more than I could stand. Instead, I told them that I wanted to try something new and give myself time to breathe after the divorce and with Rory gone. My mother isn't stupid, but she didn't harangue me into giving the real reason, even if she may have suspected it.

Seattle was nice, if a little drizzly. It matched my mood. I took Paul Anka with me. His eccentric nature fit right in. I was even able to get him a spot in that world-renowned doggy daycare, which, if you ask me, wasn't all that different from Kirk's except more expensive. The Durham group provided me with a little hybrid car, so I pretended I was a different person as I sped around, checking out small inns in the area. Anyone but Lorelai Gilmore, Complete Trainwreck.

I went to Pike Place Market. I spent an afternoon at the Space Needle. When Rory had time off for Thanksgiving, she flew out to meet me, and we drove to Vancouver for something to do, since Thanksgiving in Canada comes earlier in the year and I wanted to skip it altogether. Instead of turkey and stuffing, we ate sugared donut holes. She knew I was trying to avoid anything that would remind me of Luke, and I loved her for indulging me.

The trip was definitely not an unproductive waste of time. I was able to share a lot of the knowledge that Sookie and I had gained in our first few years of running an inn, and I picked up a lot of new ideas to bring home with me. The best part was that when I went out with my temporary colleagues, I didn't need to explain about Luke, and about how everything went wrong. Whenever we would go to a bar or some other place where hook ups tended to occur, I deflected by saying I was only staying a little while and I wasn't looking to start something casual. And instead of prying further, they just accepted my reasons.

* * *

When I returned home in the beginning of December, I needed to go to Doose's since my house had been empty for 6 months and I had nothing to eat. I was loading up my basket when I ran into him, almost literally. I was hoping to put off seeing him for at least a week, but luck has never been on my side.

"Hey," he said. He looked exactly the same. Plaid shirt, green jacket, and even the blue cap. I guess he wasn't hurting that bad, if he could still wear the hat.

"Hi," I replied, shortly. I was tired from driving, Paul Anka had gotten sick in the car after we passed the Connecticut state line, and I was hungry. I really didn't want to deal with him and our baggage at that moment.

"How've you been?" he asked.

"Really?" I asked bitterly. "You want to do this here?"

"Do what here?" he asked, looking confused. "I just asked how you've —"

"The last time I saw you, you basically said I had a giant scarlet C branded on my ass, so what could you possibly have to say to me?" I snapped. I clutched my half full basket, trying to decide if I could simply starve tonight instead of enduring this.

"I'm sorry if I needed some time to get over feeling so damned hurt and betrayed!" he shot back.

"You want to talk about hurt?" I yelled. "You hid April from me for two months! Two months, Luke. You want to talk about betrayal? But I got over it!"

"Obviously not," he barked, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.

"I was fine enough with it to try and make it work!"

"You slept with someone else!" he roared, his voice reverberating across the grocery store. I heard Mrs Lanahan gasp over by the canned soups.

"It was a mistake!"

"And then you married him!"

"That was a mistake, too!" I cried, throwing my free arm out wide.

"Right," he growled. We stood in the middle of Doose's facing each other, breathing heavily and red-faced. I could see he wasn't going to give in at all. It was as if he had stopped seeing me and all he could see was what I had done.

I shut my eyes, too tired to even summon the energy to cry. I brushed past him, dropping the basket in the aisle. I'd go to a different market, I just needed to leave. Just before leaving the store, I saw Taylor begin to open his mouth. "Shut it, Taylor," I snapped, yanking open the door and stalking to my Jeep.

* * *

I went back to work. I called Rory regularly. I went to Friday night dinners and made polite small talk. I went to a few of the festivals, but I avoided anything that took place too close to the diner. I made Sookie scout out town meetings before I would go. I'd never been so grateful for how much Luke avoided town events, because I could still go without having to risk running into him. Even better, he went to New Mexico for Christmas. Lane was my direct line into his schedule, and I had two luxurious weeks of pretending that my life was normal.

I sometimes wondered if we had stopped to really discuss all of the problems instead of pretending that they didn't exist, if things would had ended up differently. Instead, we both tried to recapture our previous relationship without examining where things had gone off the rails. I had been so desperate for him that I was willing to let go of all of that stuff, all of my concerns that I'd had during our engagement. I was willing to let him keep April and me apart, I was willing to go on being a permanent fiancee. After experiencing a year of abject misery without him, I was willing to compromise as much as possible.

But all he could see was Chris.

In a way, I didn't blame him. He hadn't made it a secret how threatened he was about Chris being in my life. He had witnessed all the times I'd let myself get sucked into his charm and affability throughout the 10 years we'd known each other. That's the danger of falling in love with someone who already knows you that well — they also know all of your faults and weaknesses. Even so, he hadn't noticed how lost I was between the time when he discovered April and when our engagement ended. And maybe he never would. I'm the one that destroyed everything, and he didn't want me to forget it.

It was another 2 months after our argument in Doose's before I walked into the diner again. Nothing had changed. I got a cup of coffee to go, exchanged a polite smile and greeting, and left. It was a small step, but it was enough.


	3. An Offer She Can't Refuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just wanted to quickly address a few things mentioned to me. What we know so far about the revival is that Luke and Lorelai are 'together' but not married. There's a reason my story takes place in 2013 and the revival is set in 2015 or later. My story posits that maybe the road from Bon Voyage to Year in the Life: Winter was a little bumpy. Who knows how ASP has handled it - or if it's just magic fairy dust that suspended Stars Hollow in animation while we weren't watching them.
> 
> Also: warning! There is Christopher in this chapter... but before you bring out the pitchforks, give him a chance. You might even like this Christopher!

 

_June 4, 2013_

I'm awakened the next morning by a knock at the door. "Housekeeping!" a voice calls out.

"Just a minute," I call back, and I wince at the sound of my voice. It sounds hoarse and dry, like I spent the last 12 hours crawling through the desert instead of sleeping in a king-sized bed at the Plaza Hotel.

"I'll come back later," the disembodied voice reassures me, and I lay there awhile, staring at the ceiling, trying to muster up the energy to get up and face the day. Going back to Stars Hollow means another year of pretending, and I need to prepare myself for it.

When I finally roll out of bed, I stumble over to the bathroom and groan when I see my reflection. Aside from the puffy eyes and mottled skin my night of waterworks afforded, my hair looks like it's auditioning for the Bride of Frankenstein. Sleeping on wet hair is never a good idea for me. I take a quick shower, trying to tame the mess as best as I can, then apply some light makeup and get dressed in my traveling outfit, a simple pair of black capri leggings and a dress that normally would be too short for someone my age, but works as a tunic. I like to pretend I'm still young, but I can't sit in a car for hours without comfort anymore.

I pack up the few items that I brought along with my new purchases. Just before I'm ready to leave the room, I glance at my cell phone and notice I have a voicemail message, left last night. I dial in, and hear Chris' voice over the crackling reception.

"Hey, Lor. I, uh, talked to Rory and she said you probably wouldn't answer and you don't have to call me back, but I wanted to tell you that Jenny went into labor tonight and the little guy is here. He's eight pounds and four ounces, 20 inches long. We haven't picked a name yet, but I'm pushing for Clive Burr Hayden. Think I've got a chance? Uh, well, anyway, Rory said that you have a hard time this time of year and I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. And I hope you are doing well. Talk to you later. Bye."

I listen to the message twice. It is a bittersweet sort of feeling to know that Chris is doing so well. It feels like it is all a bit unfair, but in another way it makes sense. My dreams of a perfect family with Chris died the day that he left to go back to Sherry so many years ago. His only died after we signed the divorce papers. He was able to move on, to find someone new that he really clicked with and who understood him the way he needed to be understood. I like Jenny. She's the type of person I could be best friends with if we didn't have Chris in common.

I call his cell phone number, and tap my foot against the carpet in the room. "Hello?" he says, his voice a whisper.

"Hey," I whisper back.

"Sorry, wait." I hear a scuffling sound and then something that sounds like a soft thud. "Hey," he continues in a normal tone. "Jenny and the baby are sleeping. I stepped out into the hall."

"So, you're a daddy again," I say, trying to keep my voice light.

"It appears that way," he says, and I hear the pride in his voice. It makes me smile, which is good, because I don't want to be burdened with bitterness over how Chris wasn't there for Rory when she was young. Chris has become the guy that I always hoped he'd be, and I'm happy for him.

"So Clive Burr, huh?" I say, and I hear him chuckle.

"Gotta honor the legends in the next generation, you know," he replies.

"Well, if we're going with legends, you tell Jenny my vote is on Lorelai. Never too early to start a new trend."

He laughs again. "I'll tell her. You coming by?"

It's a sign of how much our relationship has changed, for this to feel natural and not forced. "Yeah, sure, I can swing by. I don't have to be back at the inn until tomorrow." Chris gives me the name of the hospital and some vague directions. I'll look it up before leaving the hotel.

I make my way out of the room and down to one of the hotel restaurants. I have a long day of driving ahead of me and so I need to get nourishment. I'm just hanging up with Babette, who's watching Paul Anka, letting her know that I'll be a delayed coming home, when I hear my name.

When I look up, it's Dennis, and my cheeks grow warm.

"Hi," I say, flashing an uneasy smile.

"Did you make it in time to relieve the babysitter?" he asks.

I cringe. "I, uh, well —"

His face falls slightly, but he recovers. "There was no babysitter," he states.

"No," I admit. "Listen, Dennis, I'm really sorry. I had a wonderful time talking to you last night, it's just that —"

"No, no," he interrupts, shaking his head. "Please don't apologise. I was presumptuous. I don't usually strike up conversations with pretty women in bars." I blush at the compliment. Dennis is so gracious about my fake excuse, so when the idea comes to me, I go for it.

"Hey," I say, smiling genuinely. "Have breakfast with me."

"Yeah?" he asks, looking flattered.

"Yeah." He pulls out the chair across from me, and sits down. A waiter flits by to take our orders, and thankfully leaves a giant carafe of coffee behind. I pour out the delicious liquid onto a mug that probably costs more than my entire dinnerware set and practically inhale it.

Once I've fortified, I look up at Dennis thoughtfully. "You know, you weren't entirely presumptuous," I say.

"No?" He grins boyishly, and I grin back.

"Not at all. It's just, I was in this relationship a few years ago, and we broke up… well, we were engaged, actually. And I keep thinking it's time to move on, but it's easier said than done, you know?"

Dennis nods, understanding written on his face. "I definitely know," he replies. "I went through a divorce about two years ago, and I'm still not entirely certain how to start dating again. It's like…" he pauses, gesturing in midair. "You make these plans with someone, and you think you have it all figured out, but then it changes, and you realize that you didn't know _anything_. And so you're starting from the complete bottom again but you have no idea where to begin."

"God," I say, taking another drink of my coffee. "Where were you 6 years ago when I needed a shrink?"

He laughs. He asks some questions about Luke and I ask questions about his ex-wife while we eat. Dennis turns out to be quite the guy. I almost wish that I would have gone to his room. As one night stands go, he would have been a perfect gentleman. But I know I never would have been able to go through with it.

Before he gets up to leave, he fishes a card out of his wallet. "If you ever feel like maybe you can move on," he says, "give me a call, would you?"

I slip the card into my purse, and wish him safe travels back to Miami. I know I won't ever call him, but it's nice to know the option is there.

* * *

After I finish my third cup of coffee, I pull out my iPhone and start trying to figure out directions to where I need to go. Rory insisted I get one for my birthday this year, because it's apparently _the_ gadget to have, and has been for awhile. According to her, I'm years behind. I do find it fairly useful. I'm able to keep up on work emails while I'm away from the inn and I like to send Rory pictures of Paul Anka regularly, just for fun. It's also nice to be able to use FaceTime with her on occasion, although her internet connection is sometimes spotty.

I'm not on as many app things as she is. Rory is tweeting and on Facebook and any other social network that exists, but I haven't bothered. Normally, I would have been all over that kind of thing, but it's exhausting enough to keep up appearances with people face-to-face. The idea of having to continue that on the Internet, 24/7, seems Sisyphean. There's a also dark part of me that doesn't want to see everyone else's happiness.

Directions figured out, I bring my bags out to the lobby and give my ticket to the valet. While I'm waiting, I queue up my book, ready to listen to once I get on the road. I've started listening to audiobooks, particularly when driving long distances. This trip, I'm listening to the latest bestseller, Dan Brown's _Inferno_. Rory likes to make fun of my plebian taste in books, but I absorbed enough of the classics while we shared a roof to last a lifetime. It makes the 3 plus hour drive to Boston bearable, the male narrator's voice deep and somewhat soothing. He sounds nothing like Luke, which is a good thing, because I don't think I'd be able to get through it otherwise.

A few times, I have to backtrack because I've missed an important plot point. I still haven't reverted to my focused Stars Hollow mentality. My brain is skipping all over the place like it's a wound up toddler that only gets to play once a year. And I suppose that's true. Now, I begin to keep an iron grip on my thoughts, not allowing them to wander too far over the fence of allowed topics.

It's past mid-afternoon by the time I finally pull into the parking structure at the hospital where Jenny and Chris are sequestered. The nurse at the charge station directs me to their room, a big plastic teddy bear sign exclaiming "It's a Boy!" plastered to the door. I knock, and the door opens to reveal Chris on the other side, holding a bundle.

"There he is!" I coo softly, seeing the tiny baby sleeping. I have a flare of envy flash through my veins, but I tamp it down. At 38 years old, this is Jenny's first and probably only baby, and she deserves only love and kindness from me.

"Want to hold him?" Chris asks, and I shoot him a "duh" look.

"Gimme," I say, and he nestles the baby into my arms. He steps aside and I carry the baby inside the room. I feel tears spring to my eyes, and try to will them away. "He's beautiful," I whisper, and I look up to see Jenny, propped up in her hospital bed, wearing a tired but beatific smile.

"I think we'll keep him," she says. The little boy stirs a little, and I start to bounce him gently.

"Shhh," I say, "Shhh, it's Auntie Lorelai. No matter what Rory says, I'm your favorite auntie."

"Technically not even close to auntie," Chris says, and I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the baby.

"Don't let daddy fill your head with lies," I tell him.

"Uh, actually," Chris says, and the serious tone of his voice makes me look up. "Jenny and I were wondering, if, uh… well, if you…" He stumbles over the words, and I look to Jenny for guidance.

"We would like you to be his godmother," she says, and my heart feels like it's going to burst.

"Really?" I ask, awestruck. "Didja hear that, Buddy? Want me to be your godmother?" I look to Chris. "You're not even Catholic."

"It's more like an honorary thing," he explains, with a grin.

"Oh," I say, and look to him, then Jenny, and then back to the baby. "Well, I accept."

I stay in Boston, holding the as-yet-unnamed baby, conversing with Chris and Jenny for a few hours. At one point, Chris leaves to go on a takeout run, and Jenny looks at me closely. I've moved to sit on the edge of the bed, still clutching the baby.

"How are you holding up?" she asks, and I know she isn't asking just to be nosy but because she truly cares. That's just Jenny.

I sigh. "It's hard to say," I answer truthfully. "Last night, I came so close to having a one night stand from a hotel bar. But I couldn't do it."

"That doesn't seem like you," she replies matter-of-factly.

"It's really not. This guy wasn't sleazy though, he was articulate and kind and interesting. But the whole time, I kept thinking that he wasn't _Luke_." I shrug slightly, as well as I can while holding a baby.

"Have you told Luke how you feel?" Her blue eyes are earnest and searching. Sometimes I hate how easy it is to talk to Jenny. The CIA should hire her. The way she gives her full attention to whomever she's speaking to would make anyone spill all their secrets.

I pause briefly before speaking. "A few years ago, I went by the diner when he was closing up, and I told him he was the one and I would wait for him. And he never responded to it. Don't you think he would have come to me at some point?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she replies thoughtfully.

I'm eager to change the subject, so I softly touch the baby boy's cheek with the tip of my finger. "He's really beautiful," I say again.

* * *

It's nearly midnight by the time I finally pull into my driveway, and I'm emotionally and physically exhausted. The past 48 hours seem like a whole week, between all the walking, all the emotional upheaval, and all the crazy amounts of driving I did. I don't need to get Paul Anka until tomorrow, so I intend to slip into my new satin pajamas and collapse into bed.

I'm so lost in thought about how soft and comfortable my bed will be that I almost don't see him. There he is, at my house for the first time in almost 6 years. He's sitting on the porch, feet on the stairs. He has his head in his hands, almost as if he's fallen asleep. At first, I sit behind the wheel, shocked. Slowly, as if dreaming, I open the car door and walk towards him, stopping a few feet before coming to the edge of the stairs.

His head lifts up, and we regard each other in silence.


	4. The Lorelais First Dark Day

_June 3, 2008_

I wasn't doing so well. For some reason, the June 3rds of the past two years hadn't affected me, but after stumbling into the shower, I burst into tears and couldn't stop. I couldn't stop thinking about how this day should have been my two-year wedding anniversary. I could have been pregnant already. I had just celebrated my 40th birthday a few months before, my hopes and dreams for my life were fading away, and there was nothing I could do about it. The intensity of my sadness surprised me, since I had thought I was doing just fine.

I couldn't even make myself call Sookie to tell her I wasn't coming in. I sent her a text, trying to explain in as few words as possible. I settled on " _Not coming in. June 3rd_." She understood, promising to come by later with some wallowing food, and I didn't have the heart to tell her I wanted to be alone.

At first, I planned to spend the day in bed. But the more I looked around the bedroom, the more I remembered Luke being in there with me. Helping choose wallpaper, tiles, and paint colors. Laughing with me, or telling a story about something crazy Kirk had done that day. Making love to me, our bodies twisted and twined together underneath the sheets.

I couldn't stay there. I threw on some clothes, dropped Paul Anka off at Babette's, and started driving. I crossed into the state of New York before I decided I needed to see Rory. I pulled over to a gas station and called her.

"Hey, Mom," she said, but she sounded distracted.

"Hey, sweets, where are you?"

"I'm in the Twin Cities today. The Senator is about to make a big announcement."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it's looking good that he'll be the nominee for Democratic Party."

"Oh," I replied, my heart sinking. With this development, she was going to be way too busy to take time out for me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing, I'm fine," I said, trying to figure out what I was going to do next.

"Mom, you're not fine. I can tell. I know you too well."

I sighed. "It's June 3rd," I said glumly.

"Oh," she replied softly. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Yeah, well." I leaned against the Jeep. The pump had stopped filling automatically, but I just stood there, holding the phone like it was my last lifeline.

"Where are you?" she asked, after a loud horn burst through the air from a passing 18 wheeler.

"Off the highway, near Croton Falls, New York. I was heading to DC so I could see you, but obviously you aren't home."

"You can still go," Rory offered. "My roommate can let you in."

In a move that was almost _too_ quintessentially Rory, she found an apartment with a law student that goes to Georgetown University, a stone's throw from Capitol Hill. She still travelled a lot for the online magazine, plus she'd had a couple of pieces picked up by the Associated Press, but she needed a home base and decided to stick close to the action. She hoped to eventually move on beyond the presidential campaign, but it was affording her a lot of experience and opportunity and so it was too good to pass up.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she said firmly. "I might even be home in a few days. I'll show you the sights."

* * *

I didn't venture too far from Rory's tiny apartment. I subsisted on delivery from a stack of takeout menus I found in the kitchen. I ransacked her DVD collection, indulging in all of her saddest tearjerkers. The second night, I was laying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling when I heard a key turn in the lock. I sat up slightly, and watched as Rory crept inside. She stopped short when she saw me on the couch, obviously awake.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she said in a whisper. "Did I wake you?"

"Nah," I replied, just as quietly. "I can't sleep."

"Why didn't you take my bed?" she asked. She dropped her small duffle and came over to sit next to me on the couch.

"It was covered in papers and I didn't want to mess anything up," I said, recalling the scattered piles.

"Oh, sorry," Rory said apologetically.

"It's okay, it's a comfortable couch."

"Did you want to me to move things? I mean, it's one in the morning, you should sleep."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "It doesn't matter where I am, I can't sleep. I can't think about anything but how screwed up my life is."

"Your life isn't screwed up," said Rory. "You have a great life. You have your dream job, good friends, an amazingly beautiful and successful kid—"

"With no humility," I said, smiling slightly. We leaned back on the couch, just sitting in the dark room, content with each others' company.

"You're not happy," Rory remarked suddenly, breaking the silence. I looked over at her, and shook my head sadly, confirming her assessment. "I wish I could do something," she added, grabbing my hand and squeezing it gently.

"Your presence is a good start," I said, and half-smiled to myself, remembering another time I had said something similar. I had thought then that I knew what heartache was, but I hadn't had a clue.

The next day, Rory kept her word and took me to see the Rory Gilmore version of the sights. After she dragged me all over the Lincoln Memorial, we stopped at a little coffee shop on I Street. She led me to a table and went over to the register. I watched her carry on a lively conversation with the barista, who had a bright blue pixie cut and a lip ring.

"Here we are," Rory said, presenting me a cup of steaming coffee. There was a design in foam made from the milk.

"A heart?" I asked wryly.

"I got one too," she said nonchalantly. "Amanda makes the best foam art." I looked over, and she had a similar heart pattern in her own cup.

"You know the baristas by name?" I asked curiously.

"I come here a lot," she replied. She lifted the cup and gingerly took a sip. "Mmm, try it, Mom."

I took a drink, and had to admit it was a pretty fantastic cup of coffee. It had been a long time since I'd had great coffee regularly. I tried to go into the diner as rarely as possible, and most of the time I went when Luke wasn't around, so I had to settle for Caesar's inferior brew. Sookie desperately tried to recreate it, but Luke just had the touch.

"So," Rory began, and I was immediately on my guard. She had that look in her eyes that indicated she wanted to get serious.

"So," I echoed, taking another drink.

"You need a plan," she said. I almost dropped my cup.

"A plan? What do you mean, a plan? Like the Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand?"

"You can't live the rest of your life miserable," she continued, ignoring my attempt at deflection.

"I'm not miserable, I'm feeling a little sad _today_ ," I corrected. "And it's just because it hit me that I'll probably never have that partner that I always wanted, with the settled down, day-to-day living. The boring couple stuff. I'll go on dates, and maybe I'll be able to move on, but it won't ever be the same."

"Maybe Luke isn't _the one_ ," she said gently. I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I drained the rest of my coffee.

"You said you wanted to show me the Smithsonian?" I said, standing up and indicating to Rory that I was done with the subject. She nodded, finishing her own drink. We walked out, arm in arm, into the sunny afternoon.

* * *

I stopped by the inn on my way to my parents' place for Friday night dinner. I felt bad for not giving Sookie any warning before I took off for a few days on my impromptu trip to Washington.

"Hey, Sook," I said when I entered the kitchen. She looked up from whatever task she was involved with, dropped her utensils, and rushed over to my side.

"Lorelai, are you okay? I was worried! Babette said you just took off." She pulled me into a big hug and I accepted the comfort.

"I couldn't stay at the house, it was just too much this year," I explained. I pushed her back a bit since she wasn't letting go. "I'm fine now though, I was just feeling a little nostalgic, that's all." She nodded, then returned to her spot at the counter.

She resumed chopping or dicing or whatever she was doing. "Maybe it's time, you know?"

"Time for what?" I asked, checking my watch, making sure I had enough to time to make it to Hartford before my mother started getting irritated.

"To get back out there, at least find the rebound guy," she said, waving her hand in the air.

"I don't want a rebound guy," I replied stubbornly.

"It doesn't have to be a big deal, just someone to get your mind off of Luke. Maybe have some fun." Sookie gave me a mischievous grin. "You know, _fun_? When was the last time you've had some of that?"

"Sookie…" I sighed wearily.

She paused and looked at me, her grin fading and being replaced with something that looked too much like pity. "Come on, it's been over a year already."

I looked away. "I just, I can't," I said finally. "I gotta go," I continued, turning to leave. "Dinner. I'll see you later."

* * *

"I just took a short trip out to see Rory in Washington. She's doing great. She found a really great apartment with a law student named Julie." My mother nodded politely. At the lack of response, I returned my attention to my plate, attacking the fish with gusto. Without Rory at dinner, my parents had become much quieter.

For a while, there was no sound other than the clinking of silverware against plates, when my mother broke the silence.

"Are you dating anyone, Lorelai?" she asked, apropos of nothing.

"Uh, no, I'm not," I said stiffly.

"It's been awhile since you and Christopher divorced. You know, I thought for sure you would have taken back up with Luke by now." I looked up at her incredulously, then glanced over at my dad, who was uncharacteristically interested in his plate.

"What do you mean, taken back up with? It makes it sound so sordid." I stabbed at the fish with my fork, wishing I could avoid this whole conversation.

"Well, he was there at the hospital and with the going away party. I'm just surprised, is all."

"Well, you can rest easy, because he wasn't interested in getting back together." My mother pursed her lips at this, and I cringed inwardly, realizing how much I had said without actually saying it. Thankfully, she didn't comment further.

In fact, I thought the subject was totally dropped until she ambushed me again as I was leaving.

"Tweeny Halpern's nephew is coming to town next week, and it would be lovely if you could have dinner with him. He doesn't know that many people in the area and I think he would appreciate the company."

I hemmed and hawed, trying to figure a way out of it. "Mom, I don't know…"

"Please, Lorelai. Just dinner. What have you got to lose?" We stared at each other for awhile, her being firm and obstinate as usual, just waiting for me to give in.

I grudgingly accepted, knowing it was only going to be dinner. No exchange of phone numbers, no kiss goodnight, and certainly no innuendo-laden _fun_.

* * *

On the way home, I drove by the diner and saw the lights on. I looked over, and saw Luke doing his closing routine. Wiping tables, stacking chairs, and mopping the floor. I was suddenly struck by an intense need to talk to him. This need came up from time to time, and usually, I just went in for a coffee and a hello, and tried to pretend like that was enough. But maybe I was still buzzed from the two glasses of wine at dinner and the rich cherry cheesecake I had for dessert, because I parked the Jeep and knocked at the door.

He looked up, surprised. His features relaxed into the same awkward, guarded facade he always had around me now, but he casually called out, "It's open."

I walked inside, hearing the familiar ringing of the bell above the door. "Hey," I said.

"Hey," he echoed. "There's no coffee, but I can make a pot," he offered.

"That's okay," I said. "I uh, just had something to say."

"Oh?" He stood up straighter, and I could see his posture stiffen. He was bracing himself for whatever was coming. Not entirely unwarranted, since the last time we had spoken more than casual customer to diner owner chit-chat, I'd screamed at him in the middle of the market.

I hadn't come with a plan. I didn't even know what I wanted to say until I was already saying it. "I'm going to wait," was what came out of my mouth. "You held on to a horoscope for 8 years. I'll wait even longer, if I have to."

"Lorelai," he began, looking pained.

"No, you don't have to say anything," I said, holding up my hand. "You're it for me. I'm not going to marry someone else and pretend. I'd rather be a spinster for the rest of my life. Let the cats come." I smiled wryly, remembering the last time cats had mysteriously showed up at my door.

We stared at each other. He was waiting to see if I had anything left to say, and I was letting my words float around the air around us. After I felt like enough time had passed, I nodded once, briskly, and then I walked out the door. I didn't expect anything, and I was right not to. He didn't come after me, and the next time I went into the diner, he acted as though nothing had happened.

It wasn't until a few weeks later when the shoe dropped. Lane and Zack wanted to go out on a date, and I volunteered to watch Steve and Kwan. By the time they returned home to their apartment, it was late and I was exhausted from chasing after two very active toddlers. Zack went to go check on them and Lane walked me to the door.

"Uh, Lorelai?" she said meekly, after she'd told me about the wonderful time they'd had.

"Yeah, Lane?" I replied, slipping my shoes on and grabbing my purse.

"I need to tell you something, because you should know. I mean, I don't know if you want to know, but I need to tell you."

My heart started to pound. I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"Luke's seeing someone," she said, shutting her eyes tightly, like it was painful for her to get the words out. "No one you know, at least, I've never seen her before. I, uh, don't know how serious it is, but it's more than just one or two dates."

"Oh," I whispered. I could feel my knees shaking, and I needed to get out of there. "Well, good," I said, my voice weak and thin.

"Good?" Lane repeated, confused. She cracked an eye open to look at me.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "He, uh, he should date." I looked around, as if I was trying to find something. I felt the purse slung over my shoulder, patting it a few times. "I'm gonna go. The kids were great, I'm glad you had a good date. Goodnight."

I hurried down the walk and toward my house, tears already sliding down my cheeks.


	5. 'What We've Got Here is Failure to Communicate'

_June 5, 2013, continued_

"So, what are you doing here?" I ask, surprising myself with how calm I sound. Inside, I'm a wreck. My heart is pounding, my hands are clammy, and I feel like I want to throw up. He stands up, shuffling a little. He looks drawn, tired. I'm sure I look pretty much the same.

"I need to talk to you," he says simply.

"At midnight?" I ask, incredulously. "It couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"I've been waiting here for hours. Sookie said you were due back at work tomorrow, so I figured you'd show up sometime."

I sigh. I'm so, so tired and I'm not sure I have the fortitude to go ten rounds with him tonight. It's been a long time since we've argued, but it's been even longer since he's come to the house. "Can't we do this another time? I've had a really long couple of days."

"Please," he begs softly, and my resistance crumbles.

"Fine," I reply, walking past him and climbing the stairs. He follows me, making sure to stay a few steps back. I unlock the door and hold it open, and he enters, tentatively. I can tell he's looking around, seeing what's changed since the last time he was here. His eyes widen, and I can tell that he's surprised.

I didn't change everything all at once, but after a particularly bad day, I'd attack something in the house and make it totally different. During one of Rory's unemployed periods, she and I decided to take a stenciling class in Hartford and we came home and did a damask stencil all over the living room. I changed the colors from the warm yellows into shades of turquoise and muted greens, and bought bright red furniture. It's a little shocking at first, but I've grown to love it. Mostly, I love it because I thought Luke would hate it, and that means it is mine and mine alone. My favorite part is a huge plush papasan chair that I found one day when my mother dragged me to one of her favorite upscale furniture stores. I still don't know how a papasan ended up in a store like that, but the price tag fit the locale. I let her buy it for me. It's how she takes care of me, and even though I'm a grown adult, I finally let her do it once in awhile.

I go into the kitchen and place my purse on the table. "Tea?" I ask tiredly, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he brushes past me and begins making coffee. I slump into a chair and wait.

"I would have brought Paul Anka home, but I don't have a key anymore," he says. I don't reply, but he doesn't act like he's waiting for me to respond. I watch his practiced movements, as if he never left. It makes me feel a sad ache, deep down in my soul, because he looks like he belongs here.

Eventually, he sets the cup full of steaming coffee in front of me, but I only stare at it.

"Don't tell me you've stopped drinking coffee," he says, and although he's trying to make a joke, his eyes flash concern.

"I still drink coffee," I confirm. I lift the mug and take a tentative sip. God, he's amazing with coffee. I take another drink, almost a gulp, and when my eyes glance back over to him, he's looking smug. I have to look away again. His expression reminds me too much of how cocky and self-satisfied he used to look after he'd make me come hard, screaming in ecstasy.

"You wanted to talk," I say instead, focusing my eyes on the cup.

I hear him take a deep breath, like he's preparing himself for battle. I want him to say whatever it is that couldn't wait, and then go, so I can fall into my bed and disappear into oblivion.

"When you said you would wait for me, I didn't think you meant it." I'm not sure what I am expecting him to say, but this is so far removed from all possible topics that I practically choke. I look up at him. He is still standing, arms crossed and leaning against the counter. He is looking at me carefully, a neutral expression on his face, not even giving me a clue as to what he's thinking.

"Of course I meant it," is all I can say.

"And it wasn't my intention to stay apart all this time," he continues, sounding regretful.

"What?" I ask, surprised.

"After we talked that night, and you left for Seattle, I was planning to talk to you when you came back. You know, figure it out. But you were so pissed."

"You didn't say anything for six months, Luke. I had a phone. My number hasn't changed."

"I know, but I thought you needed some time."

"Bullshit," I spit out, and he jerks back. "You didn't know what you wanted then any more than you do now."

"That's where you're wrong," he says vehemently. "I know what I want. I knew then, too, but I was scared."

"What were you so scared of?"

He hesitates, and I can tell he isn't trying to avoid answering, but thinking of how he plans to phrase it. "You stopped confiding in me."

At this, I stand abruptly, some of the remaining coffee sloshing on the table. "I can't listen to this," I say, and start walking into the living room.

"Wait! Lorelai, wait!" He grabs my arm before I can start climbing the stairs, and the electricity from being so physically close to him makes me wobble slightly.

"What?" I ask, and I sound defeated.

"I know I stopped confiding in you, too, I'm not going to argue that." This has my attention. I turn back to him, and he drops his hold on my arm. "We used to tell each other so much. I've never opened up to anyone more than you. Except maybe Liz, but she knows most of it already."

I cross my arms, and look at him, waiting for him to say more. He is holding the cup of coffee in his hand, and he thrusts it at me, like I need it as a talisman or a shield. I hate how well he still knows me. I take the cup, cradling it against my chest.

"I've had a lot of time to think about things. God, so much time. And I know I made it sound like my pride was hurt because you slept with someone else, but it was more than that." His eyes are pleading, like he has something important to say but the words won't form.

"More than what?" I reply, trying to urge him along.

He expels a large breath through his nose, then looks me in the eye. "I've had sex with other women."

My jaw drops. What the hell? "Good for you. So what, now we're even? Now I'm not more tainted than you?"

"Please, stop," he says, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I'm trying to say this and it's really not coming out right."

"You're telling me," I mutter. I stalk over to the couch and slump down on it. This conversation can't get worse.

"I'm trying to say that the sex part isn't what matters, and I get it now. The thing that hurt more was that you went to _him_. I think I could have gotten over it if it had been anyone else. You went to him for a reason, you were drawn to him. It wasn't just a meaningless fuck."

My head is spinning. I'm starting to wonder if I fell asleep in my Jeep. Maybe I'm in a coma or, worse, dead, and now I'm in hell. I have no idea how to get out of this conversation. "That night meant nothing," is what I end up saying. "I was hurting and drunk, and it just happened. I barely even remember it."

"How can you say it didn't mean anything? You went to him to be comforted. You used to do that with me, so obviously they were feelings there." He's half pacing around the living room, and I'm struggling to figure out what the hell his point is with all of this.

"What are you talking about?"

He stops pacing and points his finger at me. "Don't play coy. You can't tell me that you all of a sudden had feelings for me after I kissed you at the Dragonfly. They didn't just appear overnight."

"Well, no, of course not —"

"And so you used to come to _me_. There was always more there, I knew it and you knew it."

I feel my patience wearing thin. "Then why did you wait so damn long?" I cry. I'm still holding the cup of coffee, and my reaction causes it to spill a little.

"Because the timing was never right!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

Luke begins waving his hand, as if pointing out imaginary people. "Well, there was Max and fishing guy and Jason and Chris, and not to mention you were so protective of Rory you barely dated anyway. I couldn't mess that up."

"You're one to talk, you had Rachel and, oh yeah, don't forget your _wife_ Nicole!"

Luke covers his face with his hands. "This is besides the point." He drops his hands and sits down on the coffee table, not quite across from me so our knees aren't touching, but close enough so he can lower his voice. "The _point_ is, that you came to me because there was more than friendship between us. You went to Chris for the same reason. It doesn't even matter if you meant to sleep with him that night or not, you shouldn't have gone near him."

I'm still trying to keep up. "So because Chris and I have been more than friends in the past, I'm not allowed to go near him if we're in a relationship?"

"That's not what I'm saying. You're twisting my words."

"Well, untwist them, because it's late and I'm tired and I want to go to sleep."

"You can't go to him when you have a problem with _me_ ," he says, and his tone is urgent, almost pleading.

I sigh. I really wish I could understand. "Can you please just make sense? I'm too tired to run in circles with you tonight."

He looks away for a bit, then down at his hands clasped in front of him. "You replaced me, with him."

"What?" I ask, my voice slightly softer.

When his eyes come up again to meet mine, I can see hurt on his face. "I wasn't giving you what you needed, and so you just substituted me with him. Maybe it wasn't on purpose, and god knows he was more than willing to fill the role. I just wish I had known how upset you were."

"You weren't listening to me and all the ways I tried to tell you," I reply indignantly.

"I know, and I'm an idiot. I'm listening now." He clears his throat. "But when you went to him, I felt like you had just been marking time with me. It was always in the back of my mind, ever since your parents' vow renewal, that you were just waiting until you could go back to him and have your perfect family."

"Huh," I snort, half laughing. Luke looks up curiously. "You know, Chris said the same thing. When we decided to get divorced. He asked if I was marking time with him until I could have you."

Luke smiled slightly, and nodded his head. "But you can see why I was so scared, right? I mean, I know that you two got a divorce, but then I couldn't stop thinking about how quickly you moved on, married someone else."

"I never really moved on from you," I say softly.

He takes another deep breath. "I talked to Sookie." I do a double-take. This conversation is shifting gears so hard, I'm practically having whiplash. "She said you haven't being seeing anyone for the past 6 years." I make a mental note to ask Sookie what the hell she was thinking.

"I've dated," I reply defensively.

"Oh?" His expression is still guarded, but I see a flicker of something go across his face.

"I mean, no one ever got a second date, but I went out. _You've_ dated." My tone is almost accusing, but I try to tamp it down.

"I have," he says evenly.

"A few of them were apparently even serious."

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck pensively. "I haven't dated since that New Year's Eve party." I look away. "I never apologized for that," he murmurs. "I am so, _so_ sorry. It shouldn't have happened."

"Yeah, well, it did," I say softly, pulling away from him physically, even though we aren't even touching.

"Stay with me, I need to get this out," he says gently. I look back up, and his eyes are beseeching. "Please let me just say what I need to say. I promise I have a point. And then you can get some sleep."

"Okay," I say, and then sit back to hear him out.

"After we argued at Doose's, I thought that maybe it was better for us to be apart, stop trying to make it work. You were so angry, and hell, I was angry, too. There was too much pain there. So even though I loved you, I thought maybe it wasn't enough." I look away again, feeling tears stinging my eyes. I try to distract myself from crying by taking another gulp of coffee.

"So I dated. I tried to move on. A few times, I thought it might get serious, but…" he trails off momentarily, and then forges on. "I just couldn't let go. There was always something missing."

"How serious?" I ask, not sure I really want to know.

"Well, I almost asked someone to move in with me," he replies honestly. I wince at the stab of jealousy.

"Why didn't you?" I ask, my voice hardly louder than a whisper. "What happened?"

He chuckles sardonically. "New Year's Eve happened." I wait for a moment, trying to absorb it all. I shake my head again, trying to sort everything out in my overtired brain.

"But that was two and a half years ago, Luke. Why now? What brought on this urgency to talk to me? Were you nostalgic about June 3rd or are you just unable to find a date these days?" He doesn't respond, and when I look up at him, his face is pensive. He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him. He holds it gently, turning it over, running his thumb over my knuckles, my fingers, my palm, like he's trying to memorize it. "Luke?" I ask quietly.

"Lorelai," he says, his voice low and serious, "I found a lump."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! Updates are coming soon!


	6. Auld Lang Sad

_December 31, 2010_

Even though I told Luke that I was content to be a spinster, it wasn't entirely true. I did go on dates. A lot of them. My mother was persistent in setting me up on countless blind dates with men around my age. All of them, without fail, were divorced. And most of them were horribly conceited, or dull, or just not my type. After too many horribly awkward end-of-date excuses, I began to make it clear at the beginning of each date that I would not be putting out. This may have seemed a little hasty to some (i.e., Sookie), but more often than not, it saved me from having to endure super long dates that were way past their expiration by men with only one goal.

New Year's Eve of 2010 was one of those dates that inspired my new policy. He was a cousin or great-nephew or step-son twice removed of one of my dad's business associates. He was in town for some kind of business meeting and my mother took the opportunity to set up the date. He planned to take me to some kind of fancy charity ball, for some cause that I didn't bother to pay attention to what it was.

Ryder Cohen picked me up from my parent's place at exactly 7:15 on the dot. He was dressed immaculately in a suit that had to be worth more than my Jeep. My mother insisted that he meet me at their place. She said it was to protect my privacy, but I know it's because she wanted me to make the best impression, and my dump of a house in podunk Stars Hollow would not do. It worked out, because I really didn't want him to know where I lived in case he was a weirdo.

My father ushered him into the sitting room, and then busied himself fixing drinks for us. I sat there, holding my martini, and trying to smile while my date not so subtly gave me a once-over. I had purchased a new dress for the evening, a floor length royal blue satin with chiffon overlay, strapless with an intricate design around the bodice. The dress sparkled in the light, and I had even applied a slight shimmer to my cheeks. It _was_ New Year's Eve, after all. I apparently had passed muster, because Ryder sat next to me and accepted a drink.

I waited in silence while my parents and Ryder talked about business stuff, smiling and nodding when appropriate. My mother was pleased with my behavior, because she kept giving me approving glances. Of course, she didn't know I was the perfect daughter because I didn't care enough to be myself.

"Shall we?" Ryder asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I smiled brightly, accepting his hand as he pulled me to my feet. "Lets," I agreed, and he helped me into my coat.

The ballroom looked beautiful. There were twinkle lights everywhere, and the hostess led us to our table. We were seated with 2 other couples, one of which kept going back and forth to the open bar in shifts, and the other that disappeared soon after dinner started, either to scream at each other or make out in the coat closet, I never figured out which. That gave Ryder and me more than enough time alone with each other.

"So, your father tells me you own a hotel," he said, picking up his glass of scotch.

I pick at my salad, moving the pieces of lettuce around with my fork. "An inn, actually. Country inns are very popular with New England tourists. We also do business meetings and larger gatherings, like weddings."

"Sounds quaint," he replied. He skipped over the salad entirely and went straight for the bread basket, which gave him points in his favor. I couldn't help but think that Luke would have liked the salad; the greens were fresh and crisp and the dressing was a light vinaigrette. I shook myself slightly, and tried to pay attention to my date.

"It's lovely," I said. "The grounds are beautiful and we try to keep a certain sensibility about the property to attract tourists and business people alike."

"So what's next, then?" he continued, buttering the roll.

"Next?" I asked quizzically.

"Will you open more inns? Branch out into business retreats? Full service wedding planning? What's next?"

"Oh," I said, setting down my fork. "Um, nothing. I'm going to run my inn."

"Don't you hire people to do that?" he asked.

"Well, sure, I hire people to run it when I'm not there. I do have a lot of flexibility with my schedule. But I enjoy the day-to-day part of owning the inn. I like to talk to my guests and plan events, I work very closely with my staff on a daily basis."

"You can't be serious," he said.

"I'm very serious," I replied, starting to feel offended. "I love what I do." He stared at me a moment, then pushed back his chair.

"I'm going to get another drink. More wine?"

"Please," I said.

We steadfastly avoided the topic of my career for the rest of the evening, which I was grateful for. By the time dinner was over, he was starting to slur slightly. I'd noticed that he had barely eaten anything but bread and some of the meat on his plate. I'd stuffed myself, preferring to eat rather than talk to this guy, whose entire interest seemed to begin and end with money. Making it, spending it, and showing everyone else how he was making it and spending it. If I'd needed more reminders of how much I didn't fit in my parents' world, these dates would do it. Ryder wasn't much different from Ben, or Nate, or Adrian.

I was just finishing up my dessert when he scooted his chair closer to me. "What do you say we get out of here?" he asked, his alcoholic breath making my nose wrinkle.

"And go where?" I asked. "Isn't there a silent auction, or dancing? There usually is at these kinds of things."

"I have a hotel room. We can dance in private, if you want." He leers at me, a smug smile curling his lips. I've never been less turned on in my life.

"No, thanks," I said. "I don't dance privately on the first date."

He sits back, agog, as if he can't believe that I, homely innkeeper woman, would turn _him_ down. "We're both adults here," he said, sounding almost wheedling. "What's some fun between two consenting adults?"

"Nothing wrong with that," I replied. "You'll just need to find another consenting adult." His face hardened, and he shoved his hand into his back pocket. He extracted a wallet, and slipped out a couple of bills.

"I think I will. Here's cab fare. Have a nice life. Enjoy your _inn_." The way he said 'inn' made it sound like an insult. Then he dropped the bills on my empty plate and stalked off. I stared blankly at the money. He left two $100 bills. I've never felt more like a whore, even though I didn't actually put out.

I sighed, and left the money on the table. I didn't come on these dates ill-prepared, I had my own cash in my wallet. I picked up my coat from coat check, and called a cab to take me back to Stars Hollow.

* * *

That year, we didn't have many guests at the Dragonfly over the holidays. It had been a really cold and snowy winter, which drastically affected the amount of tourists willing to brave the New England winter. In order to make a little extra cash flow, we decided to sell tickets and have a small New Year's Eve gala. It was cozy and intimate, and we cut corners by asking the town to chip in. After my bummer of a date, I knew the only place I wanted to ring in the New Year would be at my _quaint_ place of work.

When I arrived, it was shortly after 11, and the party was in full swing. Morey was playing the piano in the library and I could hear Miss Patty's voice singing some jazz standards. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. My heart surged with affection and contentment over what Sookie and I had built, and about the town itself. It was way better than some stuck-up snob in a suit any day.

I popped into the kitchen to see how Sookie was doing with the food, and she stopped still when her eyes landed on me.

"L-L-Lorelai," she stammered. "You're here? What happened to your date?"

"Oh, he decided to prowl around for someone more willing to give into his not-so-charming wiles," I said nonchalantly. I swiped some crab puffs from a tray that was being prepared. "I just thought I'd come by and see how the party was going. Looks like everything is going amazing."

"Oh, everything's fine!" she said, in that high-pitched squeaky voice that made me instantly suspicious.

"Sookie?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Everything's so great, you should go on home!" she continued.

"What's going on?" I asked.

She was about to start making up something, but I gave her a stern glare. She visibly deflated, then admitted, "Luke's here."

"Oh," I said, my cheeks pink.

"And," she said, cringing, "and he brought someone."

"Oh," I repeated, and I felt that horrible sinking sensation I feel whenever I hear that Luke is dating someone, or seen with a woman. Thankfully, it doesn't happen often, and it never seems to last long, but it always hits me like a ton of bricks. "Well, he's allowed," I said. "We aren't together, so…"

"Yeah, you're right," Sookie said, trying to be soothing.

"And I had a date tonight, too," I added, trying to sound positive and upbeat. "It's fine, it really is." I smiled, but it was fake. I knew it, Sookie knew it, the whole kitchen staff probably knew it.

I eventually left the kitchen, but I stayed by the front desk, away from the party. I checked over the next day's reservations, and looked over the supply log, and did whatever busy work I could. I was in the middle of calculating whether we could afford a third horse based on that year's profits, when I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, Lorelai," he said.

I looked up, and gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Hey yourself," I replied. "Are you enjoying the party?" He looked great. He was wearing black pants with a slim grey jacket over a light blue shirt. The shirt was open slightly at the collar and I could see he had on a grey undershirt. Everything was hugging his body exactly right.

"Yeah, it's great. You guys did a good job pulling it together."

"Thanks."

His eyes went up and down my body, and I felt a shiver of desire. "New dress?"

I looked down at my dress, noticing how it seemed to sparkle even more in the dim light. "Yeah," I said. "I had a thing earlier."

"Well, you look beautiful." My eyes met his and I could see the lust I was feeling mirrored in his own eyes.

We looked at each other a moment. He stepped closer, and I gripped the pen in my hand tightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but then I heard people starting to count down for the new year.

"10! 9! 8!"

Unexpectedly, he lunged at me, and pulled me into a passionate kiss. The pen fell out of my hand and clattered to the floor.

"7! 6! 5!"

We were all over each other. I could taste beer on his breath, but I didn't care. I wanted him so badly, and it had been so long since I'd been touched like this.

"I want you," he breathed.

"Take me," I replied, my voice drenched in desire.

"4! 3! 2!"

We burst through my office door, and he kicked it shut. I went for his belt and he pushed up my dress, our lips never separating. Once I pushed his pants and boxers down, he hoisted me up onto the desk, and then he yanked at my thong underwear, ripping it right off. Then, he was inside of me, and it was like fireworks all around us. My legs were wrapped tightly around his hips and his hands were on my ass as we moved. I could distantly hear Auld Lang Syne being warbled from another room, but the heavy breathing and moaning surrounded me in stereo sound. We climaxed together, my hands clutching his shoulders and his arms holding me close.

He swallowed hard, pulling away. I propped myself up on my hands on the desk, feeling the loss of heat from his body acutely. He started muttering how sorry he was, that he brought a date, and that he felt like the world's biggest asshole. I looked down. I couldn't watch him walk away from me again.

I heard the door softly click shut, and then I let the tears come in giant, gasping, body wrenching sobs.

* * *

The next day, I asked my mother to redecorate my office. I told her it needed a complete refresh, and that I trusted her judgment. I think she was so shocked I asked her for help, she didn't even remember to make a snarky remark. I made Sookie take all my files out of there and I camped out in one of the empty guest rooms until the office was completely made over, as if I could erase everything that had happened in there.

I was moving everything back in, and arranging files in my new cabinets, when Sookie knocked on the office door. "Honey?" she asked, her voice soft.

"What's up, Sook?" I asked, my attention mostly on sorting my papers.

"What happened?"

My head snapped up, and I looked over at her. She had a concerned look on her face, and she was wringing her hands in front of her. I sighed wearily. I'd been a mess for the first few days of the year, but I was trying to put this relapse behind me. I gestured to the empty desk chair, and Sookie sat down. I sat cross-legged, leaning against the wall.

"Luke and I had a thing," I said.

"Like, a fight?" she asked.

"Not so much," I replied. I bit my lip, trying to explain without actually explaining. I didn't want to tell her what had happened, because I didn't want her to read anything into it. "We kissed," I finally said, hoping it would be enough.

"Oh!" Sookie breathed, and she began to look excited.

"Stop," I said firmly, holding my hands in front of her, warding off any enthusiastic giggling. "It was a mistake, and he obviously regrets it."

"Why would you say that?" she asked, confused.

"It happened two weeks ago, and I haven't heard from him since. And he had a date, remember? He shouldn't have been all over me." I shrugged, and then laughed bitterly. "Plus, he basically said it was a mistake immediately after."

"Are you sure?" Sookie started. "Because Luke has always—"

"I'm sure," I replied, my voice harsh. "He's not coming back."

"But he—"

"Sookie!" I cried out. "Please, just stop."

"Okay," she acquiesced.

"I know you've always had this idea that Luke thinks I am the only one for him or something, and that may have been true once upon a time, but I don't think it's true anymore, if it ever was."

"Lorelai," she said, trying to comfort me.

"No, no," I said, shaking my head. I pulled at a loose thread on my dress pants. "It's been 3 and a half years since he told me he couldn't get over me being with Chris. If he wanted to be with me, he would have come back. I'm fine. Well," I sighed, "I'm trying to be fine."

"But you aren't dating anyone else," she pointed out. "You've barely even tried."

"I've been dating," I argued. "Just because they all turned out to be awful isn't my fault. I know how good it can be, and if I find that again, I'm not going to turn it down. But so far, I haven't found that guy. I did the settling for second best thing. It didn't work." I leaned back against the wall, and looked over at Sookie.

"Yeah," she agreed, even though I could tell she wasn't entirely satisfied with my conclusions.

"Look, Sook, I know you're concerned. But I've got this, really." I smiled at her, and she returned it. But after she walked out, my smile faded.


	7. Homecoming

_June 5, 2013, continued_

"A lump?" I gasp. "Oh my go—"

"It was nothing," he interrupts, letting go of me and spreading his hands wide. "It was benign."

"God," I murmur, falling back onto the couch in relief. "Way to bury the lede, mister."

"Yeah, it was on my shoulder. At first, I didn't think anything of it, but I happened to mention it to April and she started hauling out all of her textbooks, and before I know it, I'm at the hospital, getting looked at."

"Wow," I say, flabbergasted.

"Those two days I waited to find out if I had cancer were awful. All I could think about while I was waited for the results was you. They called this morning, and then I came straight here. "

My heart flip flops in my chest. "Oh."

"I've wasted so much time," he says ruefully. "And this really made me wonder what the hell I was doing. Lorelai, you're it for me, too. I've known it for a long time, but I was scared and so I pushed you away. But now, I'm done with that."

"Done with what?" I ask, not sure if I want to know.

"Pushing. Running. You and me, we aren't getting any younger." He takes the coffee cup from me and sets it on the table, and turns so he can hold both of my hands. "One of these days the nothing is going to be a something, and I want you right there with me, whether it's my something or your something. We can fix this, I know we can. My life is an open book to you. Ask me anything. I'll tell you. No matter how hard it is, or how much I don't want to tell you."

"I don't know if—"

"I slept with Anna. When I was in New Mexico for Christmas." He sees the look of shock on my face, but presses on in a rush, like he's going to explode if he doesn't tell me everything _right this minute_. "And I slept with two other women since then, you don't know them but I'll give you their names and addresses and everything else I know if you want."

"Oh! Um, well, uh—"

"And you can tell me anything. I want to hear all of it. Anyone you've dated, how things are between you and your parents, if the inn gets featured in another magazine — Lorelai, I'm in this, I want to be with you. Let me prove it to you."

"Slow down, Cool Hand," I falter. He's gripping my hands tightly, and I look down at our interlocked fingers. It's been so long since we've touched this casually, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all.

"I can't live without you," he whispers, his voice cracked and broken.

For a moment we just look at each other. I softly clear my throat.

"I've learned a lot these past few years," I say hesitantly. "A lot about myself. And I found out I _can_ live without you." He has a look of surprise, which changes into complete and utter despair. That look is all it takes for my facade to crack. "But I don't want to," I choke out, letting go of his hands and wrapping my arms around myself. Tears begin to pour down my face. "I'm so tired of being strong," I sob, and he moves to sit next to me on the couch, pulling me closer to him. "I'm tired of having to always be upbeat and happy, and sometimes I just want to _be_ , you know? And I miss you, god, I miss you so much." I sniffle loudly, and wipe my eyes on my shirt sleeve.

"Did you know that the inn's restaurant got a 4.2 Zagat rating?" Luke shakes his head no, and I keep going. "I wanted to tell you. We got the news and the first thing I thought of, even before Rory, was that I couldn't wait to tell you so we could celebrate. But I couldn't." I cling to him, crying desperately, wanting to flush out the weight of the sadness that I've been carrying around for all these years.

"When you gave me the horoscope," I say between sobs, "I said I was your Ava Gardner. But now, you've become mine. I've been pining, I'll admit it. These last 6 years, I've been pining my ass off and I'm _so tired_ of it."

"I'm here now," he soothes, running a hand through my hair. "Whatever it takes, we'll fix it." He slips his hand underneath my chin and tilts up my head so I'm looking at him. We look deeply into each other's eyes for several long moments, and then he leans in and presses his lips to mine.

The kiss is amazing. It almost goes without saying, since Luke Danes could win gold in kissing if there was a category for it in the Olympics. I allow myself to get lost in it for awhile, almost as if I'm indulging in one of the passion-soaked dreams of him I've had throughout the years. He is pulling me closer, and he starts to move his hands to my ass. Alarm bells begin to go off in my head, and when I feel his hand start to creep underneath my shirt, I pull away.

"Luke, we can't," I say, holding him at arm's length.

"Why?" he asks. "Do you need me to tell you more about me? I can list all the girlfriends I've had since 6th grade. I'll tell you endless stories about my parents. I'll dig out my high school yearbooks. I'll commit to going to every Friday night dinner with your parents until we die. Anything you want."

"Luke," I say softly, and his hands drop to his lap. He begins to get that hard look on his face, like he is bracing himself for rejection. Building the fortress. I don't like to see that look on his face, but I can't make it that easy. "We need to sleep on it. Separately. I don't want you to rush into this."

He looks perplexed at my words. "Rush? Lorelai, we should have been married 7 years ago. You've been divorced for almost that long. I sat on your porch for almost 12 hours waiting for you today. This is not rushing!"

"I'm not asking, Luke," I say gently. "Go home. Really think about it. If you wake up and still want this, then please, by all means, come at the crack of dawn and I'll let you ravish me. But we need this one night. To… to make sure."

He sighs deeply, but he knows I'm not changing my mind. It's taking all of my willpower not to throw myself at him, but the memory of New Year's Eve still hurts. I don't want to be caught up in the passion of the moment and have him regret this. "I guess this is goodnight, then?" he asks, gazing at me.

"Yes," I whisper. "Goodnight, Luke." I wrap my arms tightly around myself again, preventing him from reaching out for me. He nods once, and then he gets up and walks toward the door. He holds up his hand in a wave, then he steps out into the night.

* * *

I wake early, although it would be more truthful to say I barely slept. All night, I kept wondering if he would come back, or if he would realize that he didn't want to be with me after all. I glance over at the alarm clock on my bedside table, where it proudly displays that it's shortly after 5am. Luke is probably awake, but he hasn't come by yet.

The first wave of despair kicks in. My assumption is that if he had hopes of reconciliation last night then he would have had the diner covered this morning, and he would have come as soon as possible. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and peek through the curtain. The dawn light is just barely apparent, but the only car in my driveway is the Jeep.

I shuffle down the stairs and make some coffee.

By quarter to eight, I've given up. I've already brought Paul Anka home and apologized profusely to Babette for being gone longer than I'd planned. I've caught up on some work emails and called Rory to let her know I got home okay. I'm ready to go to the inn. I grab my bag and check my make up one last time in the mirror. Tears threatened to slip a few times already this morning, but I've managed to hold them off. I intend to keep my head up high until tonight, then I plan to break down completely. I'll even indulge in my repeated viewing of _The Way We Were_. But until then, I need to hold it together.

I step out onto the porch and breathe in the warm summer air. June is a pretty month in Stars Hollow, and I can smell whatever lovely flowers Babette has planted this year wafting over from her window boxes. I push the key into the lock and pause a moment, trying one last time to hold myself together before I have to face the world. Just as I'm about to lock the door and continue on my way to work, I hear a shout.

"Lorelai!" I turn suddenly, and it's Luke, sprinting up my driveway. He's capless but otherwise in his usual jeans and flannel uniform, although the flannel is uncharacteristically unbuttoned. He stops in front of me, heaving and out of breath.

"Luke?" I ask, wondering what on earth is going on.

"Lorelai, I am so sorry. I got up at 4:45 like I usually do, and I got ready and planned to come straight here, waiting be damned, but when I got to the bottom of the stairs I stepped in about 5 inches of water."

"What?"

"Yeah." He pauses to bend over, taking a few large gulps of air before continuing. "Turns out one of the pipes in the kitchen burst overnight. I had to call someone out and then mop it all up, and I was soaking wet and there wasn't too much damage, but damn, it took a long time to clean up."

"Oh," I say, and my heart starts to lift hopefully. He stands up and climbs the steps to stand right in front of me.

"I changed out of my soaking wet clothes and then I got in my truck but the battery was dead. Apparently, I was so distracted when I got home last night I left the lights on."

I can't help it. At this point, I start to chuckle. He's still trying to catch his breath, but he chuckles, too.

He slips his hand around my waist and steps even closer. "And then I ran here to get to you. I meant what I said last night. I'm ready, and if you're willing, I plan to make up for how much of an idiot I've been for the rest of my life."

"Luke," I breathe, and let my hands grasp his flannel shirt. "Welcome back," I say, and lean forward to meet his lips with mine.

"Is that offer to ravish you still on the table?" he asks after we pull apart, his voice husky and sexy.

"I'd prefer the bed, but maybe you can convince me," I tease, smiling. I pull back slightly. "I need to call Sookie first, tell her I'm not coming in."

"No need," he replies, and off my confused look, pulls away more and tilts his head to the side. "Hey, Babette!" he yells.

"Yeah, doll?" I hear her call back, presumably from her porch.

"When you get off the phone with Patty, would you call Sookie and tell her Lorelai won't be in today?"

"You got it!" she hollers back, and I can't help but giggle.

"Maybe a few days," I shout, and Luke and I share a glance that could melt steel. Then his lips are fused to mine again, his hands all over my body, and we're moving toward the house. I'm not even sure which direction we're going, but I feel clothes being removed and the touch of his hands on my skin.

It feels like home.

* * *

Later in the evening, Luke and I are snuggled together under the covers of my bed, our naked bodies pressed up against each other.

"So when you said I could ask you anything…" I begin to say hesitantly.

"Open book," he immediately replies. "Ask away."

"Um, what happened to your date that New Year's Eve?"

"Ugh," he groans. "Straight to the Asshole of the Year portion."

"You don't have to tell me," I backpedal quickly.

"No, no," he says, sitting up slightly. I shift against him to lay on my back, looking up at him in the dim light. "I need you to be able to tell me what you need from me," he says softly, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. "If this is something you want to know, then I want you to feel comfortable saying so."

"Okay," I reply, smiling tentatively.

He sighs, then chuckles to himself. "I went back to the party, and told her I wasn't feeling well. I put her in a cab and went home. The next morning, I called her and broke up with her."

"Did you tell her what happened?"

"Yeah." He rubs his face tiredly. "It really sucked."

"She was the one you almost moved in with?" I ask, feeling more confident in asking these questions as we go.

"Yeah, but it was kind of a weird situation. We'd been seeing each other for about 6 months, and her living situation was up in the air, so I was going to ask her to live with me. I planned to introduce it as a temporary thing, with the possibility of more." He shrugs. "Like I said, we aren't getting any younger. I cared about her. I was kind of thinking it might be as good as it was going to get."

"But after that night?"

"I stopped kidding myself." He smiles at me warmly. "And then I tried to talk myself out of it for 2 and a half years."

"And now here we are," I say, returning his smile. He slides back down to lay next to me, sliding his arm underneath my back.

"Are you still doing Friday night dinners?" he asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Yes…" I reply, a questioning look on my face.

"I meant what I said last night. I want to go with you," he says, and he sounds adamant.

"Really?" I ask, incredulous. "But you hate that stuff."

"It's part of your life. I want to be a part of it, too, if you want me there."

"I want you there," I say, and I begin to choke up a little.

"Hey," he whispers, as he wipes away a tear that escapes down my cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I just, I have a lot of emotions battling for supremacy right now," I whisper back.

"Which one's winning?" he asks tenderly.

"Love," I reply, burrowing my face into his neck, breathing him in.

.

END


	8. Bonus Chapter: Luke's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A suggestion by JumpingCattleHockey inspired me to write this bonus chapter, which is the events of the story through Luke's point of view. You probably all still hate him, but I hope maybe it gives a little insight into how Luke was thinking and feeling during the course of this story. It's the problem with first person narrative - it's biased, but I used it because I wanted to delve into how Lorelai was feeling. So, here ya go.

_December 4, 2007_

I was pissed. It was unbelievable, really. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Yeah, right, whoever coined that phrase never met Lorelai Gilmore. Her anger hadn't dissipated even a little over the 6 months that she had been away from Stars Hollow. In fact, I think it grew. Exponentially.

I was pacing around the apartment, still reeling from all the things we shouted at each other in the middle of Doose's — god, now everyone would be talking about us, _again_ , and it made my skin crawl —when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I yanked it out, ready to snipe at the person on the other line, but I saw April's name and took in a deep breath, calming myself down.

"Hey, sweetie!" I said, trying to keep my tone level.

"Dad! I have fabulous news," she said, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Fabulous news? Well, I'd love to hear it."

"Well, I know this is Mom's year to have Christmas with me, but my uncle is taking his new wife on a cruise or something, which is actually smart because they run a lot of specials on cruises this time of year and—"

"Okay," I chuckled, wanting to head off a diatribe about the financial merits of cruising during the holidays, "get to the point, please?"

"Well, the _point is_ that his house will be vacant and he needs a house sitter for two weeks _and_ it's just down the road from us!"

I sat down heavily, thinking it over. I knew I could get the diner covered. I could even hire more people if Lane and Caesar couldn't handle it with the part-timers. High school students who might want to work a few hours around the holidays.

"Let me see if I can work something out with the diner, and I'll get back to you," I said, and I heard excited squealing on the other end.

It was nice to spend the holidays with April, something I'd never had the chance to do. She tried to include me in a lot of their traditions, and since Anna was busy with her own mother, we got to spend a lot of time together, just the two of us. We went ice-skating and to so many lighted festivals and parades I couldn't keep them straight. I took her shopping for Christmas gifts, which consisted mostly of me standing around nodding as she talked a mile a minute about the merits of whatever item she had under consideration.

One night, between Christmas and New Year's, April went to a sleepover at a friend's house. Anna took pity on me and invited me over for dinner. The food was great and we spent hours talking, late into the night. I wanted to hear all about when she found out she was pregnant with April and her earlier years, and she wanted to know how the diner got off the ground from its somewhat rocky start. We'd had too many beers and started to reminisce about the time we were together.

We were both lonely.

It's no excuse, but we knew it was a mistake immediately. And not in that 'one person thinks it's a mistake and the other just goes along with it' kind of way. We sobered up and talked some more. We both agreed that April never needed to know, and that it wouldn't happen again.

April's uncle's house was only a short walk from Anna's, and so I was lost in my thoughts as I walked home that night. For the first time since Doose's, I allowed myself to think about Lorelai. I couldn't help but draw a parallel between her and Chris, and me and Anna, although it seemed very different to me. For one thing, Lorelai and I had been apart for a long time. For another, I had begun to think that there was no going back anymore. Maybe it was time to finally give up any chance of reconciliation between the two of us. Obviously, we were too good at hurting each other.

Instead of dwelling on it, I stumbled into the house and went straight to bed, trying not to think about relationships at all. Avoidance was key; it was the only way to get through it.

* * *

_March 10, 2008_

I was at a restaurant supply store outside of Hartford when I met Laura. I was picking up a few pans to replace the ones that Caesar charred beyond usability during an ill-fated cooking experiment while I was away. I wasn't looking to find myself in an unlikely meet-cute, but I ended up stopping her from being hit in the head by falling cake pans. We started chatting in the aisles, giving each other insights about our favorite brands of cooking utensils. She was a pastry chef at a small place in Litchfield. She was soft-spoken, with a round face and sumptuous curves, but her face lit up when she told me about her bakery. I took her number, and we went to dinner that Friday night.

The first time she invited me inside her townhouse, I was nervous. It was like I wasn't a 40-something man, but a teenager again. We sat on her couch and talked for awhile, until she told me to kiss her already.

The next morning, I drove back to the diner, feeling slightly ashamed although I didn't know why. I was a grown man, having a grown up relationship with a grown woman. I had no reason to feel ashamed, but it gnawed at the edges of my thoughts constantly.

I really liked Laura, but I didn't love her, and she knew it. When she broke up with me in July, it was amicable. I didn't tell her the reason I'd become so distant recently was because of a run-in with Lorelai, late one night while I was closing the diner. I hated the pull she still had over me. I needed to move on.

What's that saying? Fake it until you make it? That was me, faking it, but apparently not very well.

* * *

_January 1, 2011_

I was scum.

I had just gotten off the phone with Julia, to tell her what I did. Who I was with the night before. I was pacing the apartment, trying to stave off the hangover migraine that was bubbling beneath my temples. I knew I should make that remedy cure shake, but I felt like I should suffer today. Because I was scum.

I've done some shitty things to people I care about. When my mom was sick, I told her that sitting around with her was boring, and I wanted to go play baseball with my friends. She was gone a month later. I ignored the fact that sometimes Jess didn't have enough food to eat because Liz was a little scatterbrained and too busy shacking up with a new guy. I alienated the woman I married until she cheated on me. I kept my fiancee from meeting my daughter because I was worried she would like her more than me, then I told her that her mistakes were worse than mine.

Then I fucked her. And left her alone in her office afterward. I heard her sobbing after I shut the door, and the hatred I felt toward myself was so potent I wanted to vomit.

There was no way around it. I was the world's biggest asshole.

Over the next few days, I picked up the phone to call her at least a dozen times. I even started walking toward her house once or twice. But I just couldn't. I didn't know how to explain myself. _There_ _was no_ _explanation_. She had looked like a dreamlike vision, her face glowing and her dress perfectly draped over her body, glittering in the dim light of the Dragonfly's front desk area. I craved her in that moment like I've never craved anything. When she gave her consent, it was like I was out of my own body, watching myself. The rational side of me wanted to stop, step back, but I was out of control. Every impulse, every dream I'd woken up from, every stray thought about Lorelai I'd had over the past three years came rushing back to me, and I drowned in it.

Why couldn't I let go?

It was clear to me then — I needed to stay the hell away from Lorelai Gilmore because I didn't want to hurt her any worse than I already had.

It was months before she came back to the diner. She never came in alone after that. She always had Sookie, Michel, or Rory, and even one time her mother. She looked at me, wondering if I would break, if I would admit to what had happened, but I pretended it hadn't. Her eyes were sad, but also relieved, and she participated fully in my charade.

* * *

_May 28, 2013_

I was getting ready to open the diner when I absently scratched at the back of my neck. My fingers landed on a weird bump, on my right shoulder. I smoothed over it a few times, trying to get an idea of its shape.

Weird, I thought, and moved on to other tasks that were commanding my attention.

"Hey, do you know what could cause weird bump things on shoulders?" I asked April the next day during our phone call.

"What kind of weird bump?" she asked, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in that science-y brain of hers. I described it as best as I could, and I heard her flipping pages in all of her textbooks. I guessed it was good that the money I was contributing toward her MIT tuition was already being put to use. "You mean like a lump?" she asked, and I heard concern starting to edge into her voice.

"Uh, I don't know," I said, and before I knew it, she was pulling up all the nearby clinics and making appointments for me.

* * *

_June 2, 2013_

I underwent a barrage of tests. They took vials upon vials of blood. They did throat swabs and an ultrasound. I had to answer questions about my health history to so many different nurses and doctors I started to get mixed-up. It's then that I started to think about Lorelai, about how having her there would have anchored me and helped me deal with all this confusion.

I knew it was selfish. But it wasn't even that I just missed Lorelai as my girlfriend or as my fiancee. I missed my _friend_ , too. It had been so long since we'd exchanged more than pleasantries, so long since she said she'd wait for me, there was no way that she had. I felt a prick of jealousy, and then shame, because I didn't deserve to feel jealous anymore.

* * *

_June 4, 2013_

I'm trying not to think about the results, but I should be finding out any minute and the waiting is killing me. I'm using work to distract myself from thinking, as usual. I'm mostly able to stuff all those thoughts into a tiny compartment in my mind, and focus on taking orders and delivering plates of hot food to my customers.

Then Sookie comes into the diner for lunch with Jackson and their kids, and I freeze. I don't intend to bring her up, but I can't help myself. When she comes up to the counter to ask for more napkins, I blurt it out. "How's Lorelai?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "What do you care?" she asks, snidely. I'm surprised. I've never known Sookie to be anything but happy and bubbly, but this is apparently no man's land.

"I care," I reply, defensive. "I've always cared."

"Funny way of showing it," she says, but her hard look softens around the edges. She leans forward, and I lean in, too. "Yesterday was June 3rd," she says, and then gives me a look, like I should figure out the rest.

"June 3rd?" I ask, wondering if I should know what that means.

"Oh my _god_ ," she says, and I feel annoyed. "You don't even remember?" The date _is_ familiar, and I try to dig deep in the recesses of my memory. "Perfect dress, perfect church? BFOTB?"

It all clicks, and I expel a rush of air as I gasp, "Oh."

"Right," she snaps. " _Oh._ " She looks around, seeing that no one is within earshot, and says in a low voice, "Lorelai leaves town every year on that day. She can't stand to be around. She calls it her 'dark day'. No one but Rory knows where she is." My heart falls into my stomach. There's no way, I think to myself.

"It's been years," I say dumbly, and I know it's the wrong thing to say from the look on Sookie's face.

"Yeah, well, I've tried to tell her multiple times to find someone new but she won't, so great job." I mumble something, and she snorts. "I need those napkins," she says firmly, indicating that the conversation is over.

After that, I'm so preoccupied between waiting for the results of the testing and the fact that Lorelai may not have moved on, I start dropping plates and burning things. Caesar practically shoves me toward my apartment and tells me that I'll thank him tomorrow when I still have a business.

When I finally get the call — "benign, just a lipoma" — I collapse onto my chair. I'm flooded by relief but also a newfound sense of urgency. I'm older than my dad ever got to be. Almost twice as old as my mom when she died. I'm gripped by a paralyzing fear that I don't have _time_. Do I want to live in a sea of regrets like this? Does she know how I feel? How I've always felt? What if something happens to me? To her? I'm suddenly terrified that Lorelai could get sick and I'd never know.

It was obvious from our fight in Doose's all those years ago that Lorelai thought I couldn't get over her night with Chris. At that time, I wasn't sure that I could. I vaguely remember giving her some non-committal platitudes the night I rejected her advances. I hadn't wanted to close the door on us yet, but she slammed it in a fit of anger and hurt. And I let her. For the second time, I let her walk away from me. I stopped fighting.

Had I _ever_ really fought for her?

The thought hits me like a ton of bricks. The vow renewal. The ultimatum. The admission. Seattle. New Year's fucking Eve.

My head is starting to hurt from all of the thoughts and emotions slamming into me all at once. I get up and go to grab a beer from the fridge, but stop. With sudden clarity, I realize it isn't quite too late, but time is running out. I have to see her, I have to explain. I have to beg her to let me fight for her, for us. Show her that I can open completely to her and be vulnerable in a way I haven't been.

I run to the Dragonfly Inn. I blow past Michel, who rolls his eyes and says something about letting Sookie handle the irate flannel wearing man. I'm not irate, although I probably look manic. Sookie is surprised to see me again so soon, but before she can ask me what I want, I blurt, "Where is she?"

"Not here," she says, arching an eyebrow.

"I need to talk to her, is she off today?"

"She's supposed to come into work tomorrow, so if she's not home already she should be soon."

I don't even respond, I just leave abruptly and make my way to her house. I knock a few times, and call her name, but the house is silent. I fall onto the steps and sit down to wait.

"Sugah?" I hear Babette's raspy voice say, and I look up, alarmed. She's hovering over me, looking concerned.

"Hey, Babette," I say sheepishly.

"Lorelai's not home," she says, nodding toward the house.

"Do you know where she is?" I ask, desperate for information.

"No, doll, I don't," she says, and I slump disappointedly. "She called me this morning to say that she was going to be a little delayed comin' home. I'm watching Paul Anka for her. You want to take him back?"

"I, uh, I don't have a key anymore," I say.

"Right," she says, shaking her head slightly, as if she'd forgotten that Lorelai and I were basically estranged. "Well, Morey and I are making dinner. Want me to bring you somethin'?"

"Sure," I reply, and I watch as she crosses the lawn to her house.

I wait for hours. I watch the sun set over the tops of the trees in her yard, and the breeze blow against her too-tall grass. I make a note to come by soon and mow it for her. Babette comes back and brings me food, and Lane checks in at some point. Both of them suggest I come back tomorrow, but I'm resolute.

It's late and dark when I think I hear her Jeep. At this point, I've thought I've heard it coming up the drive a million times, and I think my ears are playing yet another trick on me. It isn't until I hear footsteps that I finally look up and see her.

She looks tired as she holds her purse against her, but I think she's never looked more beautiful. We stare at each other for several long moments, until finally she speaks.

"So, what are you doing here?"


End file.
